


Top secret

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humour, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Secret child (-ren)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 15:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Sherlock and John accidentally discover that Mycroft has a child that no one knew about and some other secrets... multiple secrets.





	Top secret

Sherlock took a deep breath. He and John were in Paris, officially to solve a case, unofficially to unwind after the Sherrinford situation. Two-three days in a foreign country, far from Eurus, Mycroft, all the problems, that sounded like a bliss. Additionally, John was thrilled to have quiet, uninterrupted meals and talking exclusively to adults about serious business. He was over the moon. Well, for the first twenty-four hours. Now, as they waited in the lobby of the Hôtel d'Alsace for a cheating husband and a clever scammer, John suddenly realised he missed Rosie dearly and was chatting with her on the phone. While he gleefully repeated inarticulate sounds she produced, Sherlock observed every person that entered the hotel. Any moment now.

John ended the call and turned to Sherlock. 'Did you know this is where Oscar Wilde died?'

Sherlock was about to annoy him by pretending he didn't know who Oscar Wilde was, but then something unexpected happened. A man walked in, mid-twenties, tall, slim. Hair brown and curly. Eyes dark. Sharply-dressed in a bespoke three-piece suit. Carried an umbrella, despite the dry weather. Sherlock's jaw dropped and he elbowed John to get his attention. John gasped out, 'Oh, my God, not another one.'

The man noticed them and froze. Nearly dropped his umbrella. He stared at Sherlock, looked him up and down. Although he was as shocked as Sherlock, the corners of his mouth slid upwards, seemingly without his conscious decision. Another heartbeat and the man simply turned around and exited the hotel. Didn't run, wasn't particularly fast or determined to lose Sherlock. However, when Sherlock managed to get to his feet and followed the stranger, there was no trace of him. Not only did he vanish into thin air, but also all security cameras in and outside the hotel were all disabled. No proof of his existence, nothing that could help Sherlock track him down.

'Unbelievable. An endless supply of secret Holmeses,' John muttered, relieved the man got away. He was still trying to get over his encounters with Eurus. 'Who was that?'

'I don't know. He looked like young Mycroft, apart from the hair. Most striking resemblance. I'm intrigued. Perhaps Daddy has not been faithful to Mummy... or was it Uncle Rudy?'

'Yeah. Definitely not Mycroft.'

Sherlock wanted to nod in agreement, but couldn't. Facial features, fashion choices, the air of confidence that surrounded the alleged new Holmes. It all suggested that Sherlock had been an uncle and didn't know about it. Most likely, neither did Mycroft.

 

Back in Britain, Sherlock discreetly questioned a few family members. None knew anything about a twenty-something French version of Mycroft. There was only one thing to do: have an honest conversation with his unsuspecting brother. Sherlock almost felt bad about ruining Mycroft's quiet evening. Almost.

Mycroft was still in his office. He twitched when Sherlock strolled in, hastily gathered documents that were spread on his desk and put them away. His face took on an unreadable expression and he leant back in his chair, wordlessly encouraged Sherlock to explain what brought him there.

There was little point in softening the blow. 'I saw someone in Paris, a young man who looked just like you, the resemblance was uncanny. I'm afraid you have a child. Did you know about that?'

To Sherlock's deepest surprise, Mycroft smiled. 'Paris, you say? You have met Ruth.'

Sherlock was speechless. For countless reasons. One of them was: unless Ruth was truly a relative of Uncle Rudi, there was _another_ child.

Mycroft cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. He finally had the decency to appear disconcerted. 'Oh. That was Elijah, then.'

'Two children?! Mycroft, how on earth... There's a third one, isn't there?'

Mycroft smiled nervously. 'No, of course, there isn't one... What would make you think that?'

'Please, do not insult my intelligence.' 

Mycroft considered another blatant lie, but it seemed easier and faster to tell the truth. 'Yes, I have three children. Mummy kept saying that I shouldn't criticise her parenting style and one day I'd understand how demanding and exhausting it is to look after three argumentative human beings. I was curious if she was right. My conclusion is that, oddly enough, I had a right to be upset with her. Two out of three of her offspring were always my problem. None of my children have ever shared my fate in this regard.'

'Was your youngest an experiment to prove Mummy wrong?'

'Yes, in a way. Jordana is twenty-two and so far, neither she nor her brother or sister has committed a serious crime or has had any contact with illegal substances. All three talk to me on a daily basis. Two out of three are in a steady relationship. There are no signs of mental health problems,' Mycroft boasted smugly. Rightly so, that was a truly impressive achievement. Three adult children who didn't hate him or attacked Sherlock for a vague reason. Remarkable. 'Elijah loves your blog. He had plans to approach you as a client. I gather he reconsidered that. They all live abroad and have their mother's surname.'

Sherlock opened his mouth a few times to reply to that stunning news of two nieces and one nephew. 'But...' was all he said.

He could easily understand why Mycroft kept the new generation of the Holmes family away from the country. Eurus wasn't the only potential danger to them, Moriarty would have loved to terrorise them and they would have been a true gift to Magnussen. All the nameless enemies from Mycroft's past, when he was an MI6 agent, also could have seen them as valuable pressure points. Not to mention the most obvious advantage of the situation: no 'meet my family' horror. Whoever made the mistake of having an intercourse with Mycroft was surely intensely grateful for avoiding that.

'All with one woman?' He asked finally. He couldn't decide what was less probable: one woman who was with Mycroft long enough to get pregnant three times or two or three women who let Mycroft get near them.

'Yes, one,' Mycroft's face softened. 'It was my first day at the university, hers as well. She made _challah._ Freshly baked, soft sweet bread. Moist. I can still remember the taste and texture. Heaven. I am weak, what can I say. Her apple cake. Chocolate _babka_. Jam-filled homemade doughnuts. All those apple desserts,' his voice trailed off and he looked away, unaware of his bizarrely dreamy expression. 'Before I knew what was happening, Ruth was about to join us and then Elijah.'

'Are you married?' Sherlock didn't give Mycroft time to answer, he cried out, pointing at Mycroft's ring. 'Oh, my God! You _are_!'

Mycroft chuckled softly. 'I don't know how that happened. It was a very confusing time in my life-'

'Wait,' Sherlock interrupted him sharply. The shock was already passing and he could think clearly again. He put together all the pieces of information and the conclusion that he drew from it was alarming. 'Ruth, Elijah and Jordana. _Challah, babka, sufganiyot, charoset_. She's Jewish.'

'No, she isn't' Mycroft lied on the spot.

'Israeli.'

'No.'

'Is she... She _recruited_ you, didn't she? Seduced you with her baking skills and made you work for... Mossad? Is this what you've been doing all these years? A double agent. Dear God. She fed you Jewish desserts and you fed her classified information.'

Mycroft smiled gently and tilted his head slightly. He idly stroked the ring on his finger as he spoke in a calm voice. 'We have never had this conversation, is this clear? Stand up and get out. Not a word to John.' 

A cold shiver ran down Sherlock's spine. The situation was so surreal. He laughed, albeit nervously. 'Are you threatening me?'

Mycroft's twisted the ring on his finger, slowly, almost hypnotically. 'You were never here, Sherlock. Go back to your flat. Nothing happened.'


End file.
